Word, Words, Words
by Jack E
Summary: What do you read, my lord?" "Words, words, words."
1. Gratitude

_Gratitude_

Well, in truth, he was a little bit sad. I mean, the whelp wasn't that bad really. Yeah, he asked an endless tide of questions, was very idealistic and also was suspicious of everything Jack did in the beginning; but truth be told, he was a good kid and a good friend.

But wherever the whelp went, so did the wench (and visa versa). So now, as Jack tipped back his chair and sloshed down a bit of rum without any problems in the world, Jack was plenty grateful that the whelp was keeping her far, far away.... For now.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Just thought that it would be stupid to keep all these hidden away. They aren't the best but I hope you like them. I am still working on "On the Edge of a Knife, Off the Edge of the Map" 


	2. Waiting

_Waiting...  
_(Done in 3 P.O.V's)

**Jack- **

No matter how many times scolding looks were thrown his way by young William, Jack couldn't stop his legs from bobbing. Even if he wanted to be good. And he really did...sort of.

Oh, it was a strange form of Hell! He wanted to be here- seeing his best friend's son (who, in turn, was a friend also) go throughout the happiest day of his life. But it was hard. The sermon was boring, Norrington kept throwing him suspicious glances-which made him edgy, the rum was calling! But, worst of all...Captain Jack Sparrow really needed to go to the bathroom.

**Elizabeth- **

It was exciting and scary all at once. But, caressing her swelling belly once more, Elizabeth wouldn't have it any other way. With a small shift of movement from the tiny life inside her, a rush of eagerness ran up her spine. She was going to be a mother...soon.

The thought of it amazed and surprised her. Looking back on her life, she never could have guessed what it would be like. And, funny enough, as she laid beside her beloved at night, him falling into hysterics every time the subtle kick of his babe could be felt, she couldn't decide who was more anxious....

**Will and his mother-  
**  
He was in a position that reminded her of a portrait. A mess of dark curls, standing on his tiny tiptoes, gripping the windowsill with tiny, fragile fingers and gazing impatiently out the window at the stormy grey sky.

Will could stand there for hours, ardently anticipating his long gone hero to return from his latest adventure with a trinket of gold, silver or some form of curious workmanship secretly pocketed.

The sky grew dark and rain began to patter on the windowsill, blinding much of what was outside. But the young lad didn't budge, still anxiously awaiting his best friend, his idol...his papa.

...Too bad this time the round golden gift came home without its giver.


	3. Truth

_Truth  
_(In 3 P.O.V's)

**Elizabeth Swann-  
**  
"Welcome to the Caribbean , love. "

For all these years she had heard tales of him making wild escapes and pillages– but no matter how mad they seemed to be, she had believed them. And she had set her hopes on him for finding her beloved because of it. But he had deceived her. She hated it. Surely, there had to be some accuracy to some of the phenomenons on his adventures. There just had to be. For Will's sake....

"So, is there any truth to the other stories?"

"Truth?" She watched with half excited, half disgusted wonderment as he revealed scars and other testaments to his adventures– pure proof. "No truth at all."

Inside, Elizabeth smiled. '_Truth is a valuable thing_.'

**Jack Sparrow-  
**  
Sometimes people are too bloody honest and stupid for their own good.

"I said no lies!"

"I think he's telling the truth."

"He's not telling the truth."

"He may be."

"If he was telling the truth, he wouldn't have told us!"

"Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't believe the truth even if he told it to you."

These two for, example…

"You think he wasn't telling the truth?"

"He doesn't tell the truth when he's telling the truth."

For 'ow long can they question my honesty? Shouldn' take too much to figure out 'ow much truth leaves my mouth. M'a pirate, for cryin' out loud.…

**James Norrington-  
**  
"Oh, and Miss Swann? The very best of luck to you both."

She had smiled, more fully and warmly towards me than I could ever recall.

All my life I had been taught to be honest. Thus, it was engraved into my mind that the truth was the only good word in this world. Any lies or deceit were dirty, damaging spots that didn't need to be created. Truths cleansed and mended.  
_  
'But if that's so_,' I couldn't help but think as she took the boy's hand, her face radiating with a love that had never shone when she stood by me, '_then why does this truth hurt so_?'


	4. Dreams and Nightmares

**A.N.-** This ended up working for both Jack or Will's P.O.V. Sort of Will/Elizabeth or Jack/Pearl.

_Nightmares_

They were the only place he could see her from somewhere other than afar, his dreams. He had many dreams of her. Dreams that were so wonderful he'd be disheartened and dispirited to awaken and find that's all they were: dreams.

Then there were the nightmares. So heart wrenching and horrifying that waking was a blessing, though his heart still pounded with the dread and fear of losing forever the one he never had. The one he loved.

You can imagine his terror when his nightmares began to take shape in his life. In a flash of shadow, fire and the cover of night and moonlight, she was gone. Suddenly he was torn between tears and helplessness as that awful feeling of trepidation swept over him.… But then, he discovered

that it wasn't like in his nightmares. No strange force held his legs to the ground. He _could_ do something. He found courage, and he fought with all his soul.…

He still has nightmares sometimes… but once upon a time he fought. And now his dreams are his life. She's with him.…


	5. Sightless

**A.N.-** A little bit embarrassed to admit this, but will do and make a fool of self anyway. Essentially, when Maggie Theis removed her account from , the Yahoo group that I ama member of had a drabble challenge for "Sight." I hadn't any ideas, so I just decided to let this one pass and decided to look at "_The Measure of a Man_" again since it was no longer posted. I got to chapter fifteen, "_No Greater Purpose_" and, reading and remembering Will's condition, I was struck with an idea. So, In a sense this is a slight tribute to Maggie, although I must admit the writing doesn't compare.

The lead-up to this section from "_The Measure of a Man_" is a very beautifully written plot that reminds me of epics and old ballads. Most _Pirates of the Caribbean_ stories are tales filled with adventure and angst and perils that have a certain feel to it. There are very good stories I have read. "_The Curse of the White Sword_," and "_The African Star_," being just two of them. But there was something about "_Measure_" that stuck out to me. The descriptions were vivid and beautiful that reminded me of a pleasant blend of Tolkein and sometimes even Shakespeare. And the characters... the characters were delved into at such a depth that they felt new and exciting. Their thoughts, trials, pains, situations, happinesses, likes, dislikes were all human and real.

Will Turner, essentially, was turned away by Governor Swann after asking for her hand. Elizabeth attempts to comfort him, although she knows not the reason for his sudden depression (as neither he nor her father ever speak of it again), and invites him to a gala event where an important earl is to attend. Ever eager to please his lovely Elizabeth, Will agrees even though he feels horribly out-of-place and can't dance. At the party, pirates attack and loot the place and its people. When the governor is put in a deadly situation, Will volunteers to save him in an attempt to win his approval.... But he does something that Jack Sparrow would label, "Stupid," and ends up with his life remaining by threads that are swiftly being cut, one by one; affecting all those around him including Elizabeth, her father, Commodore Norrington, Jack Sparrow and possibly his long-lost father. Eventually, he goes blind and that is where this takes place.

* * *

For Maggie,  
with hopes that she'll one day return and bless us with her magnificent talent....

* * *

_Sightless_

It had been a hellish nightmare, one he had lived far too many times to care for. But it also had been very different this time. The deafening thunder of sea, canons and voices of men crying in shouts of anger, alarm and agony meshed together; the distinct smells of fish, of fire, of gunpowder, death; the sharp smacks of salt, the coppery tangs of blood… and the chilling clench of cold, cruel, white terror and pain.

It was fresh and vivid, almost as fresh and vivid as a memory of yesterday. And then, in bitter and grievous detonation of knives and flames and in a painful whirlwind of thoughts and memories it faded away, submerging him in deep and asphyxiating obscurity that terrorized him even more than the trepidation of uncertain death. The darkness engulfed him in wide gulps of wickedly greedy torment and barbarity as monsters of flame and shadow, bearing chains of unquenchable and unpalatable fire rose from the dark, grinning sanguinarily at the endless dark and frigid panic that crushed his heart.

Then he opened his eyes. It was a phantasm… just a dream. For all the lies and fabled deceptions the fever hissed into his mind's ear, somehow he knew it was just a dream.

Roars of flame and rage dissipated into nothing as the familiar gentle creaks, soft churns and feeble beating of his crippled heart crept back in to supplant them, like one wave of the mighty sea washing away only to have its ghost be replaced by another. The scorching sharpness faded and changed from unbearable heat to chilly cold, the damp, sticky sensation of bodily secretion and fever and an almighty throbbing in his profligately afflicted head once again. But this time there was no light to draw him away. The images… devils of smoke and fire, nightmares of misery and horror…this time, they managed to cling, though he knew in the depths of his deeply eroded soul they should have let go, and he should have escaped his prison for one moment more. But they did not fade. There they stood, as grotesquely clear and powerful as ever before. He languidly blinked and with the solitary light of bitter realization only just managed to inhibit the entirety of his body from trembling from the sudden and violent terror that clutched his heart, mind and soul squeezing them harshly in its pitiless grasp. He had lost it. The one key to the door leading out of his hell and penitentiary had slipped between his shaking fingers, snatched away by the unsatiable curse that was his disease and an escape was no longer within his reach. No, there were no shapes, colors, blurs nor even petty shadows to offer him the comfort of infidelity, and the only way he knew he was not alone was from the sudden stirring of the unnoticed warmth beside him.

Elizabeth… his only light in dark, his only way out of his punishing and relentless disorder.… Although he could smell her, touch her, feel her and, in his mind's eye, see her, and although he knew she was there, she was gone. And suddenly, although his frantically beating heart strove to keep it still, his courage devolved to the light and vigor of a petty match burnt to the stub. Then, with a final whiff of malicious hopelessness, it blew out and his heart– the same heart that had lead him to conquer demons under a Caribbean moon– failed him at last as a meek and childlike whimper escaped his trembling lips.

He was helpless. Flightless. Sightless.…


	6. Ghost Stories

**A.N.-** Written for a Halloween/Samhain challenge

_Ghost Stories_

"The pirates came in a ghostly black ship that was so evil, hell itself spat it and its crew back out: the _Black Pearl_. It was on a night just like this one."

"Jus' like dis?"

"Yup. She was so dark and the fog so thick that not even Uncle Norrington saw her comin'."

"Whoa…" two tiny, mystified voices came back at him with adoring chocolate eyes, identical to his and wide with wonder. Will Turner couldn't help but smile lowly and slightly crookedly at how much joy he could receive from it– such a simple thing, acting out a story with excited hand gestures and befitting voice tones. But the children loved it, and he intended to give thanks for it, for it was a trick he had learned from a very dear friend.

"So she crept, without the slightest hint of her presence, into the harbor. And then… when all the town was sound asleep in their beds–"

"Excep' fo' you. Papa." The little girl chirped, helpfully, golden curls bouncing merrily on her head.

He twitched a smile in response. "Yes, except for me– She let loose her guns and fired upon the town with explosions that were so loud and powerful that they shook the ground and lit the sky with their fire!"

"Whoa…"

"People were running all over and houses were being blown to pieces. People were scared– there were children just like you there too. And then the evil pirates came ashore."

The young boy took no hesitation in solemnly stating, "They took Mama." He turned his head toward the young woman who was busying about her work in the kitchen of the little cottage that the family called their home. She caught his eye and smiled warmly back.

"That's right. They took Mama. But I wouldn't let them hurt her. So I went after them. I grabbed Uncle Jack and we stole a ship from Uncle Norrington."

"Ooh, he was mad, huh?" the young girl cooed.

Will snorted. "Yup. He was mad. But we didn't care. We went to Tortuga and got some pirates to help me and then I went to the dreaded Isla de Muerte. I saved Mama and we tried to run away."

"But the pirates were cursed."

"That's right. So they caught us. And I let them take me so Mama and Uncle Jack would be safe. They took me back to the island and they were going to kill me to break the curse."

"But den, Un-coe JACK came!" The boy popped, jumping a little bit with excitement at the name of his favorite "relative."

"Yup, Jack came."

"Yay!"

"And he helped me fight the evil pirates. But the pirates could not be killed. In fact, they turned to bones whenever the moonlight touched them– they were already dead! So Jack and I worked together. I broke the curse–"

"And you guys killed Captain, Ba'bossa," the young girl finished, as-a-matter-of-fact-ly, raising herself on her knees and placing her tiny hands on her hips in a way that she had seen her mother do many times before.

Their father smiled warmly with a twinkle in his eye. "Yes we did. He's dead now, and he can't hurt us anymore."

"Bu' tonigh's diffwen', Papa!" the boy exclaimed, a sudden worry gleaming in his wide, shining eyes. He almost seemed frightened…

And Will took no hesitation in taking advantage of the situation. His stance shifted to something more hunched and creepy and his voice became deeper and more rugged. "That's right. Tonight's different. Because tonight, the two worlds of the living and dead can come together, and so the dead can walk with us."

"And so Ba'bossa's walking?" His daughter asked, a worry identical to her brother's shimmering in her own orbs as she grasped her father's tunic in little, fragile hands.

He cocked a coy eyebrow and grinned a mock-malicious, tight-lipped grin, allowing the firelight to add a sense of spookiness to his face and the atmosphere. "Yes."

The children gasped.

"In fact," he continued, "who's to say he's not walking right now…right outside our front door?!"

At that moment, the front door rattled violently, bringing the children's whole attention upon it, their eyes wide with thoughts of the dreadful possibilities racing through their young minds.

Tension rose in the air as the seconds ticked by in apparent slow motion, so thick that it could almost be felt licking the skin.

And then, the door sprung open. The children let out two almighty screams as a ghastly figure waltzed right into the room. And then… their screams slowly subsided and grins took their places as they found their father laughing with the now-familiar stranger. Fear was suddenly replaced with glee and they sprung to their feet and ran to greet their new visitor. On this night of the dead, nothing could happen to them. For now they not only had their "almighty" papa to protect them, but they also had another.

"'ey now! What 'ave we 'ere?!"

"Uncle Jack! Uncle Jack!"


	7. One Word Dialogue

_A Drabble  
_In Which Only One Word May Be Used In A Conversation

Elizabeth was washing dishes. Strange, that. Before she married Will she never would have imagined herself doing the dishes. But here she was- doing dishes in a charming home of her own with the man she loved most.…Oh yes. And little Jack, their son.

The one-year-old (and a half) tot waddle up and tugged on her skirts lightly, pointing to the stove where a freshly baked batch of cookies lie as soon as he got her attention.

"Coo-ie," he babbled lightly, lip a-pout and eyes- his father's, those- wide and gleaming.

Will chuckled from his place beside his wife at the washbasin. Elizabeth smiled and, drying her hands off on a close to hand cloth, she retrieved her son the object of his desire, holding it out for him to take.

Take it he did, in a two-handed grip (for the cookie was large), sticking its edge in his mouth and waltzing to his favorite place to spend his alone time- under whatever table there was in the room mother and father were in- without even glancing a thank you.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes lightly as she returned to the dishes. She'd have to get around to teaching him the proper response, someday. She glanced at Will, eyebrow cocked, and he smirked back before kissing her softly on the cheek. She smiled. They were, most certainly, happy.


	8. Oh, Holy Night!

**NOTE:** _This was a gift for a Secret Santa challenge on "The Black Pearl Sails." I was very greatful for it, as it gave me something new- unlike other drabbles/vignettes- I've done before. This is __how it "works." The first (long) section is actually the prologue to my other fic, "On the Edge of a Knife, Off the Edge of the Map." This isn't an essential read, although it really helps set the mood and the stage, in a way. After that is where the fic begins._

* * *

'_Oh, Holy Night'_

The night was as clear and bright as any one could ask for. The sky was as richly jetty-dark with the tiny pinpricks of white in the heaven shining as silver-encrusted diamonds, radiating of their own accord. And the moon, a full glowing plate of silver, rose high above the world in its own quiet romantic majesty. A perfect night for a lovers' walk or a child's heartfelt wish upon a star, it seemed, and in many place perhaps it truly _was_ such a wonderful nocturne. But off the western tip of Cuba on a ship black as ebony, there were no pining lovers nor praying tots– just a grumbling group of men returning to their ship after a day's bootless venture.

However, these men did not appear to be men at all. Not to men other than themselves– not to men amongst themselves. In fact, those that could have laid eyes on them at that moment most likely would have paled and possibly fainted in fear and disbelief. These men were monsters, cursed by their own lust and greed for things of a pretty value to appear as the blackness of their hearts when touched by the light of the moon. Only rotting strands of leathery skin and muscle remained of their formally plentiful flesh. Skulls for faces, bones for limbs and digits and rags for clothing, the skeletons seemed far from humane with their eyes glowing withing the depths of their cold and very lifeless physiognomies. No pining lovers nor praying tots– no, nothing about the moon was romantic or charming to them. It was a reminder of the plaguing woe that sat upon them, and they cursed and shook their fists at it's beaming, silver cheek.

So it was that these demon-like creatures sat in longboats and hauled themselves up, up, up and level with their ship's main deck. Peeling letters on the ship's bow read in faded words: _Black Pearl_, insignificant to many along the Spanish Main, and yet of great importance to most along the coasts of the long island of Cuba.

Some of the men grumbled, most of them were silent and pensive, but all of them held an angry and frustrated air about them, glares and glowers furthering the menacing-ness of their evil appearances.

The ropes creaked and the ships thudded lightly as they rocked, the pirates– for pirates they were– stepping from one vessel to the other, many of them locking themselves up in their thoughts of deficiency. A few of them appeared to carry the weight of their discouragement upon themselves, shoulders drooped and back bent in a slouch as they shuffled their way onto their ship. But one among them stood proud and held a certain air superiority about himself in a way that was somewhat impressive.

The man was the captain, of course, and the splendidness of the fact was that one only needed glance upon him to know it. He was darkly clad like unto the ship he commanded, and authority and power were in his very step such that the rather large, plumed black hat he wore was very much not silly. And his face…his face was as cold and collected as a man without adversary, regardless of the fact it lacked many living features, such as color and whole flesh. He needn't open his mouth to order what be done, for his men knew what to do and did such without second thought. And the heavy silence continued as he surveyed his men under cold, calculating eyes that were as grey as the stormy sea amongst a hold of sickly yellow suggesting poor health in contrast to his loftiness.

The last of the pillaging brigands stepped from the last of the boats and pairs of men began to go through the process of the stowing them away until their next needed unveiling. As a cloud passed over the moon's luminous face, its light stopped short-spoken, a shroud of darkness overcame the already swarthy vessel. But a little bit of Hell seemed to lift away as that cloud performed its masquerade, for the skeletal figures of the seamen swiftly changed back to the impressions of their true forms: grimy and somewhat evil in the depths of their eyes, but save such little notes of detail, relatively normal sea dogs.

In some ways they looked pathetic. Some with rather thin and gangly limbs, despite their obvious long-past departure from youth, and some with a slight mournful gleam in their devilish orbs. But, above all, they looked different from each other. If one were to take the time to observe quietly, one might have noticed that the crew was unlike others in one distinct aspect: racial and ethnic diversity. Whether they were from Africa, England or born in the Caribbean, everyman was his own and tolerated as he was tolerated by the other foreign members of his crew.

"Two months," the silence was broken by Kohler as he coiled rope, a skinny black man with long dread lock sprouting from the top of his head and an ornate yellow tattoo engraved upon his face. His snarl was muttered to himself and a small grungy-looking man by his side who had a filthy woolen cap upon his dirty head, but regardless of how low the mutter was, his voice was carried across the dark deck in the stillness of the night for all to hear. "Five bloody stupid months and we haven't been able to find one of those stinkin' coins!"

The captain turned steely eyes upon Kohler and his friend Twigg, a grim smirking frown pressed upon his countenance, but he said nothing.

Another pirate, tall and gangly with dirty, blond hair that stuck up in places from lack of washing let a low growl grow in his throat as he bared dirty teeth in a mouth surrounded by scruffy whiskers– Ragetti.

"I'm starvin'!" he grumbled, his voice stupid and almost whale-like in its sound.

"We all are, you nitwit! You're not the only one cursed," one nearby him cut back, with other muttered agreements scattering themselves about. Pintel was this one's name. Short, stocky and balding at the top of shoulder-length matted hair, he had a particularly wicked look in his eyes– even more yellow, bloodshot and sickly than the captain's, they were. A man that was short of patience and quick to temper, his littleness was a thing of little importance to those who knew him and were smart enough to keep their noses in the right places.

Another silence descended as men began to pick up the load that had been placed on the deck. Bags of Spanish gold and silver, a few paintings, some jewels and gems, a couple strings of pearls.…Normal pirates would have begun sorting through the loot, gleeful with their find and excited with the anticipation of getting to fritter it away. But, as can be told, these men were not normal pirates. The gold was of no used to them, for they could not enjoy the pleasures to be bought with it. Food turned to ash in their mouths, drink fell through their bodies and failed to satisfy, and all the pleasurable company in the world could not slake their lust. Once compelled by greed, only to become consumed by it.…

Yes, they had plenty of riches in their hands, but with nothing to use it for it was unusable and worthless. All of it would be, until they found what they were searching for– the lost Aztec coins that had cursed them in the first place.

"S'Christmas tomorrow," Ragetti commented off-handedly. Unlike the others, this one still attempted to keep some type of positive spirit about the place. But it was often rebuked.

"What's it matter?" Pintel spat back as he lifted a heavy gunny sack full of silverware and candlestick made of valuable metals. He sneered. "S'not like that'll help us any! Besides, who cares about Christmas! Nothin' special 'bout it."

Some grumbled about this– whether in agreement or argument, it could be said, for it was too muddled. But Ragetti simply frowned an ugly grin, his whole face creasing in downward lines that spoke of heartfelt disappointment as he cast his eyes downward a bit shamefully, lifting his own satchel onto his shoulders (this was filled with the heavy load of…silk).

"…I like Christmas."

Pintel, ever the negative and easily angered, soon spat back ,"Yeah, well you liked peekin' into people's keyholes too– look where that got you!"

Ragetti's head bent lower and his scowl deepened as he touched his right eye with a wary left hand. Unlike the other, which was blue and glistened as all eyes do, this one was brown, faded as paint, creaked when it moved and, if one took the time to look closely enough, it the tiniest flow of thin grain lines waving about it's round surface. His eye was made of wood– and often times caused him quite a bit of trouble as it popped out as it wished sometimes, and other times he was to stupid to remember that, regardless of it looking an eyeball, it didn't function as one.

"So," sighed Twigg as he too lifted up a burden for him to carry below decks, "we've scoured just about every town in Cuba, sacked all the ports, hunted down every last stinkin' man, woman and child and we still ain't got no stupid medallion. It's been two months and we've only just finished our first island."

"An' dere are over three thousand more t'go," Kohler commented as he began to walk towards the ship's hatch. "At this rate it'll take us ten years to get dis finished!"

"There's got to be a better way to do it," Twigg sighed as he reached down to lift the hatch.

Kohler frowned angrily. "Either that or we're doin' somethin' wrong."

"I ain't done nothin'!" Ragetti's voice called out in a whiney defense.

The sharp smacking thud of a fist or hand smacking against another's flesh clamored across the deck. "No one's says you does, ya fool!" Pintel hissed.

"What do you tink, Captain Barbossa?" Bo'sun, a very large and muscular black man with decorative dotted scars dancing about his forehead and what appeared to be the slash marks of a very large jungle cat upon his right forearm, spoke. His voice was deep and rumbling and his speaking slow, careful and with a slight accent from some far away place. "What're we doin' wrong?"

The captain, arms crossed over his chest with his body in a relaxed yet commanding stance, cast his gaze to the bo'sun without moving his head; the silvery blue of his orbs glistening in the very corners of his eyes with yellow and a web of spidery, red lines following behind them. His skin was visibly rough from too many days in the sun and even shiny in some places, like the tip of his nose, testifying of many sunburns gone past. Wavy, chin-length hair of a coppery color dropped from beneath his large, plumed cap and a whispery beard and mustache of the same color sprouted from his face like thick cobwebs. On his left cheek was a thick but not-too-long scar from a mysterious abrasion that no one knew of and in his ear there shone a subtle glimmer of whiteness from a tiger-tooth earring.Moreover, though his eyes drooped as a sign of age and weariness, the subtle mad glint in his eyes and the oh-so-slight curl of his weather-worn lips was enough to chase all signs of senescence away.

"If I knew that," he returned with quick words and a sharp voice that was keen with the accent of a man of the sea, "we'd have at least a good handful of them medallions in our grasp, now. Wouldn't we?" His voice held its own cunning and cool quality to it. Not very rich, nor strikingly clear– in fact it was quite nasal– but bitingly sharp in the wit and precise command that wrapped tightly around his snake-like tongue. The smirk did not leave his face and a dangerous and clever gleam began to sparkle cloudily in his eyes as he cast his gaze towards Twigg, who was grinning mischievously.

The small pirate shuffled his feet a bit uncomfortably under the steady and powerful gaze. "Well…" his eyes shifted about nervously, "…well, maybe we just missed it? Why don't we go back and look again?"

Barbossa's smirk deepened and became colder. "Oh, bright idea lad. 'Cept for the two small facts that everyone we found on the island was killed on the spot an s'a complete waste of time.… We can't afford to be losin' time, now, can we lad?"

Twigg bowed his head, submissively, a muddled, "No, sir," leaving his lips but a still defiant gleam shimmered distinctly brilliant in his downcast eyes.

Barbossa downright scowled and gestured firmly in a dismissive move. "Get outta here," he hissed disgustedly.

"Aye, sir," was the silent reply before Twigg turned and disappeared below.

The crew was silent, now. Shuffling without words to get their job done and wait until their captain gave word to set out to sea.

* * *

"That star's awfully bright," Ragetti commented the next night, his booted legs dangling from the ship's spar as he turned a hopeful face upward.

"Yup," was Pintel's short reply. He, as it were, was in a good mood. Tonight, the moon was hidden by a particular thick blanket of clouds, so the men were pleased to find that they wouldn't have to look at their wretched selves for a good while that evening. They despised their tormented forms, as they reminded them of the hellish misery that they wallowed in, mercilessly.

"Yeh think it's the one?" Ragetti asked breathlessly.

"It could be," Pintel returned brusquely as he tightened the knot in his hands, finishing the sentence in his head so as not to disappoint is friend: '_But I doubt it._'

Barbossa, standing back by the helm with his arms crossed about his chest as he often did, simply listened pensively. Even though the day had passed slowly and heavily, they had not moved since the night before. He was thinking, as captains often tend to do, for often times captains have much on their troubled mind to think about. Barbossa was no exception.

Collect and cool, the man would never show it for the possibility of a loss of respect and possibly power amongst his men, but Barbossa was greatly troubled. It was not a usual thing for Hector Barbossa to be troubled. The man held a certain confidence in himself that was somewhat surprising to many. But troubled he was, and for the past couple of hours the man had been standing at his place beside the helm trying to puzzle out his troubled thoughts.

Months had gone by since they had began their search for the Aztec coins that caused the plague which was placed upon them. Months and not a single person they confronted carried the coin. The men had started in the most logical place they could thing: Tortuga. They had spent their money there, why not search for it there? But, much to their dismay, every last one of the coins had found their way off the secluded little island– and suddenly their search became very great and desperate. Towns were burnt, people slaughtered and treasure plundered. But for all it was worth, nothing came of it and their work turned out to be in vain. The _Black Pearl_ and her notorious crew of degenerates became known throughout the Caribbean as a ship of slaughter and most spoke her name with a subtle air of fear and terror.… Normally that would have been pleasing. Now it was not.

The captain sighed to himself as he cast his eyes upward towards the veiled moon that rose high in the sky, and deep beneath the skin of his black heart he cursed the fool thing the scourge that wound itself so closely with the glowing orb. His soul was tired, though he'd never admit it.

The moon, as if in response, soon crept out from behind it's hiding place among the clouds and Barbossa closed his eyes as it's blue and silvery beams fell upon his face and body, his mouth pressed down in a grim frown. But his eyes snapped open as a thud of a body sounded from the deck, followed by the high-pitched and shaking voice of Pintel.

"'ey! I-I, I've not changed!"

The captain took the few steps between him and the poop deck's rail with swift precession, almost running as the words he heard turned in his head. His jaw fell open as he cast eyes upon his suddenly inactive crew, though no sound left his mouth. His eyes positively bulged. He was speechless.

"Neither 'ave I!" came the response of a grimy, long-haired man called Mallot. He held his hand directly up against the moon as if in an attempt to get it closer and remind the celestial light that it was supposed to turn him into a monstrosity. But no such thing happened, as his hand remained full and healthy-looking (enough) flesh.

A shiver of murmurs ran through the crew, all of them springing to their feet had they been down and rushing from the rigging onto the deck to join their mates in the strange and new discovery. Excitement filled the air and voices grew steadily louder, more joyful and more impelled.

"S'the curse gone?"

"Nah, I still can feel nothin'!"

The excitement fell slightly with a sudden, subtle disappointment. They had thought the curse had somehow been merciful, that they had somehow escaped its clutches regardless of their not having found the coins necessary to break it. But the happiness did not completely where off, as just the idea of not having to become monsters under the kiss of the moon sunk into their minds. They could, at least appear normal and definitely human men.

"Was goin' on!"

"I dunno, but I think I like it!"

"Captain!" Barbossa's attention was brought to grimy Twigg as he ran his way up the deck towards him, a small package was clutched in his hands, which he held out excitedly. "We found this floatin' off the side of the ship, Captain. S'for you."

A suspicious air surrounded the captain as he carefully eyed the small parcel. Indeed it was for him, for his name, although blurred from water running over its top, could be seen scrawled across the top in crude black ink. He simply stared at it a few moments, thinking whether taking the package would be a wise thing to do. But, eventually, he took the package from Twigg's dirtied hands. As he tore at the plain brown paper that wetly clung to the wooden box beneath it, questions rose in his mind, some concerning the package, some concerning the strange event that took place. Who was this package from? If it came from the island, how could have the person gotten away without them noticing? Why were they not changing under the moonlight?

After discarding the wet and ripped paper, Barbossa discarded it mindlessly as he began to slowly remove the tight lid of the small wooden box. He glanced inside and felt his eyebrows twitch in confusion as he reached in and began to remove the objects one by one and place them on the ship's helm. An apple– at this he felt a sneer grow on his face– a bundle of frankincense, a bit of Mur, and then he lifted five gold coins. He rolled his eyes as he almost dumped the things off the side of the ship. This was a joke, and he needn't read the note at the bottom to guess from whom. Gold, frankincense and mur? This was Jack Sparrow's doin' if he ever did–

He stopped as his eyes caught the glint of the gold's engraven face and he felt his face grow pale. These weren't no Spanish gold coins. Not English nor Dutch either. And his eyebrows shot high with surprise as the carven skulls of Aztec gold coins grinned up at him tauntingly, maliciously.

Dropping the coins back into the box he immediately fished out the note and began to read to himself:

"'_Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes  
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,  
…No spirit can walk abroad;  
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,  
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,  
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time_.'

"_Enjoy the night while you can… and the apple._

"_Merry Christmas_

"_J. S_."

The man smirked. Well, well, well. It _was_ Jack Sparrow. How the man got off that island and managed to still have a sense of humor was beyond him, but Barbossa think much on it as he put the note back and picked up the apple. Apparently, he had underestimated the magic of the night. And though the only effect was to take away the curse of their appearances and he still could not taste the mocking apple that was in his hand, he couldn't help but smirk slightly to himself. Perhaps Ragetti had been right in his hope all along.

He chuckled coldly, "Merry Christmas, indeed."


	9. The Measure of a Man

This one carries the theme of the fic with the same title and has some paraphrasing of some the story's quotes inserted into it--call it a tribute, if you like. Normally, this kind of poem is written with two parallel columns (each column a "voice" or person) that are spaced so that if two people read the poem aloud while scrolling down, it would have a certain rythm or sound as they trade turns reading. Since I cannot put things in columns, I've written it in a scriptlike format so you know who's speaking. Will and Jack are the voices. And I quote Peter from Finding Neverland in that "It's just a bit of silliness really..." So, here you go!

"The Measure of a Man"

Both: The course I've had to take with you  
Has been far less than pleasant.  
Will: You're a pirate with no regard for rules.  
Jack: An' yer a hen-pecked peasant.

Will: Spineless cheating dastard.  
Jack: Bloody stupid cad.  
Will: Manipulative lying--  
Jack: Eunuch!  
Heh, you bes' watch yer mouth lad.

Will: You cannot interrupt me ingrate!  
You disrupt the pattern of the rhyme.  
Jack: So? I'm bloody bamboozlin' pirate.  
Both: Your kind doesn't/don't mix with mine.

Jack:Use yer 'ead not yer 'eart- you whelp.  
Will: Same to you, seditious hypocrite!  
Jack: Yer too moral an' honest to be of 'elp.  
Will: And it's easy to trust a well-known convict?

Will: But as long as my body draws its breath,  
Jack: I'll deal with you, yeh bloody churl;  
Will: I must endeavor to save Elizabeth.  
Jack: So long as it brings back my Black Pearl.

Both: My world starts and ends with her--  
That's something you couldn't possibly comprehend.  
Jack: Oh, but to tha'-- I must answer--  
Both: I grasp far more than you apprehend.

Jack: I've seen it in the way yeh look at 'er.  
Will: I've heard it in your voice.  
Jack: An' though I didn't ask fer things t'go this way,  
Will: I was offered little choice.

Will: I won't question what I'm doing.  
Jack: 'cause that freedom I've worked so hard for,  
Will: When I look at the ocean never-ending,  
Jack: Suddenly that don' seem so important no more.

Jack: I'll shake yer hand an' summon toleration,  
Will: A temporary truce between you and me.  
Jack: So I can close up a vast separation,  
Will: And let our only hurdle be the sea.

Both: The sea is wide, vast and as empty as the world,  
Jack: An' you can take it, have it all, an' ne'er it lend.  
Will: But all of the sudden it seems as empty as you behold.  
Both: And then you realize.  
Both: What good is a world without end?

Both: I think I'm learning something new--  
Something I never realized before.  
If you look past a man's outer view  
You'll see they're something more.

Will: Perhaps you live an impulsive game,  
Jack: An' maybe yer virtuous to no end.  
Both: But, in hearts, we are very much the same  
And perchance I can call you my friend.

Jack: I told yeh once that only one thing matters:  
Both: What a man can and can't do.  
Will: But as my world has dashed to shatters,  
Both: I've found that it isn't true.

Both: A man can do whate'er he wants to.  
Jack: S'like a personal banner unfurled.  
Will: But it's what he will and what he won't do;  
Jack: Aye,  
Both: That's all the difference in the world.

Will: I just wish that things were less complicated,  
That things hadn't turned out so bad.  
Jack: Well, more than once s'been indicated:  
Few things in life are simple, lad.

Jack: True strength is knowin' how to make  
The complicated parts easy to understand.  
Will: So there's only one truth to life I'll take:  
A man can only do what he can.

Both: And these are the things that define him.  
Will: Not wealth, reputation or the worth of his father.  
Both: Whether he does good, bad or nothin';  
Jack: It distinguishes him from his brother.

Will: A man is measured by the time he's given  
Jack: An' what he's done with that lifespan--  
Will: What he does when all's forgiven--  
Jack: Aye, that's the measure of a man.

Both: A man is measured by the time he's given  
And what he's done with it-- whate'er he can--  
So when I look at you and by what you're driven,  
I'm glad I see the measure of a good man.


	10. Chasing the Horizon

Another Voice Poem--this time with three voices and, again, written in script format because it's impossible to do columns on here; this time James Norrington is in the mix (one of the best characters in PotC, really); this one deals with how each of these men took similar paths in pursuing their dream and how they diverged in the end with their results: Jack and Will succeeded, James lost and had to find another dream. (Which is part of the reason he ends up the way he does in the sequels.) If you want to have a place to put this in, it's between PotC 1 and 2--closer to ending of 1 than the beginning of 2.

**Disclaimer:** The opening stanza and reprise of the stanza contains content from _Kingdom Hearts II_--the second line being the one that is mine; this stanza and the _Kingdom Hearts_ themes inside it are what launched the rest of poem. Huge amount of credit and thanks to whatever hand at Square penned those lines.

* * *

Chasing the Horizon

**Jack**: We pray for our sorrows to end,  
**James**: Be they granduer to others or childish,  
**Will**: And we hope that our hearts will blend;  
**All**: Now I will step forward to realize this wish.

**Jack/James**: Each living heart beats and breaks  
**All**: For something that warms beneath its frame.  
**Jack/Will**: Sometimes two hearts have different aches.  
**James/Will**: And sometimes they hold the very same.

**Jack**: But everyman has a _Black Pearl_—  
**James**: —Something they've been searching for all their life—  
**Will**: —And a place to give them safe harbor  
From the world's harsh toils and strife.

**All**: I looked on her for the first time,  
Glowing beneath the setting sun;  
From that moment my heart no longer was mine,  
**Jack/Will**: And I knew my doom had begun.

**All**: I knew it.  
**James**: I was seeing what I wished,  
**Jack**: Overly-confident,  
**Will**: An orphan poor.  
**All**: To dream of her would be my bane  
And yet my heart couldn't dream of anything more...

**Will**: Warming,  
**James**: Charming,  
**Jack**: Utterly emancipatin',  
**James/Will**: ...  
**Jack**: Wha'?  
**All**: She was exactly what I needed  
To conquer my hearts' voids of naught.

**Will**: So although I felt the fool about her,  
**James**: Though I knew I had no guarantee,  
**Jack**: I went ahead—took her for me own;  
**All**: I took no head of tragedy.

**All**: And for a time we had peace:  
Though small in measure, too sweet to tell.  
**Jack**: She let me guide and get to know 'er.  
**All**: And my heart began to swell.

**All**: She met my needs:  
**James**: Honor,  
**Jack**: Freedom,  
**Will**: Love and healing;  
**All**: She made me feel so complete,  
I felt my senses reeling.

**All**: And yet, a problem stood:  
**Will**: I was below her,  
**James**: Waiting for change,  
**Jack**: Young and stupi—I mean, unwise.  
**All**: Though the sun shone upon my head,  
I turned my face from my demise.

**All**: Somehow I always knew the seas were rough ahead,  
But I knew neither time nor place.  
Thus when calamity chose to strike,  
In my despair, I nearly lost face.

**Jack/Will**: She was taken from me by pirates foul,  
**James/Will**: Passed from hand to hand—  
**All**: She was taken by a motley corsair crew  
**Jack/James**: And a man I had once called my friend.

**All**: I have yet to find a torture  
More cruel and excruciating  
Than the pain and solitude I felt  
When my heart gave threat of breaking.

**James/Will**: A thousand knives of heated steel  
Gouged and scorched within my breast.  
**All**: The desperate drive for action in my bones  
Bid me have a plan, robbed me of my rest.

**All**: My grief was great, my anger fierce  
In its battle with my dread.  
**Jack/James/Will**: Would I find me/a/my love again?  
**James/Will**: Or was hope/she already dead?

**Jack/James/Will**: As time/fate/love would have it, my course was set:  
**James**: A path from which I could not differ.  
**Jack**: Come demons and Hell, I'd face it all.  
**Will**: And in unbreakable truth I'd die for her.

**All**: I pursued the dogs that spirited her away,  
Allying former enemies along the way,  
And doing things I never thought I'd do—  
Saying things I never thought I'd say.

**All**: A sliver of light broke through the clouds  
And hope beyond their brim  
As my searching began to bear good fruit,  
Despite the blossoms of my whim.

**All**: For a moment, things turned for the better.  
**Jack**: A bargain was returning her to my sea.  
**Will**: Elizabeth was now safe from harm.  
**James:** She had promised her hand to me.

**All**: But even the sun must set below  
A horizon undiscovered.  
**James**: And to my surprise,  
**Jack**: Anger,  
**Will**: And grief,  
**All**: I found another sought her for a lover.

**Jack**: Betrayed by friends,  
**Will**: My heart,  
**James**: Her,  
**All**: I lost what I'd thought I'd gained.

**James**: She was slipped from my fingers a final time,  
**Jack**: And my will to fight deceased,  
**Will**: As a harsh reminder came to mind:  
**All**: It was never meant to be.

**Jack/Will**: My faith grew frigid as though  
**James**: Her heart belonged to another man.  
**Jack/Will**: Death's shadow smiled upon my face.  
**James**: He offered more than I can.

**James**: I tried to make her something else,  
To mold her into my own confection.  
I thought I knew her, but I never saw  
The beauty of her true perfection.

**Jack/Will**: She'd always been my freedom.  
And I'd thought my Liberty was gone.  
I cursed myself for a faint-hearted fool,  
For growing faint of the run.

**Jack**: But the storms have parted,  
**James**: The rain has passed,  
**Will**: And the horizon begins to gleam.  
**All**: Among the blackened mists of cloud  
There shines a silver sheen.

**Jack**: She's come back to me.  
**James**: She's happy now.  
**Will**: She finds ease within my kiss.  
**All**: Amidst the sadness of the world,  
There glimmers some happiness.

**Will**: The darkness is gone.  
**James**: I've let the past go.  
**Jack**: I've made amends with old mates.  
**James**: I'll forget my defeat for her smile to shine.  
**Jack/Will**: It's time to open new gates.  
**  
All**: I looked on her with soft eyes,  
Glowing beneath the setting sun;  
**Jack&Will/James**: From that moment she was forever/no longer mine,  
**All**: The tempest was finally done.

**James**: We pray for our sorrows to end,  
**Jack**: Be they grandeur to others or childish,  
**Will**: And we hope that our hearts will blend;  
**All**: Now I will step forward to realize this wish.

**Jack/James**: Each living heart beats and breaks  
**All**: For something that warms beneath its frame.  
**Jack/Will**: Sometimes two hearts have different aches.  
**James/Will**: And sometimes they hold the very same.

**Jack**: But everyman has a _Black Pearl_—  
**James**: —Something they've been searching for all their life—  
**Will**: —And a place to give them safe harbor  
From the world's harsh toils and strife.

**Will**: I found my _Pearl_.  
**James**: I let her go.  
**Jack**: Her sails are always risin'.  
**All**: Now my eyes turn towards the sun  
And recall how, for her, I chased the horizon.


	11. Beaded Memoir

_Beaded Memoir_

**B**eads of jaded, shinin' mem'ry dangle freely in carefree em'ry—clues to wha' I a**M**  
**E**ach tittle an' tat a capsule of stilled time tha' whispers of when I 'ad stood wher**E **  
**A**nd each bead, every woven strand, do stand for somethin' sweet, friendly, war**M **  
**D**eath an' Darkness do exist, I don' deny; but wha' dire need have I in recallin' s**O **  
**E**nough nightmares haunt man; To chose to light your own way would be such as **I **  
**D**eath nor Darkness cloud not mine eyne as, at a touch or a glance, I do remembe**R **  
_Thus 'angs my solace in beaded memoir…_

* * *

_Dedicated to Pierce UrLipz, if I remember right._

**_Author's Note:_** A huge shout out to all who have been following what I have been writing! Lots of hugs and winks and... snickerdoodles? Yes--I am working on _Knife._ For those of you who didn't get the memo, I am not only writing a new chapter, but re-writing Chapter 1: Misfortunes. Therefore2 Chapters will be there for your reading pleasure. (It's been kind of slow with a busy schedule lately.)

AND **(Big flashing letters indicate that this is IMPORTANT!**) I am CHANGING the title! On _the Edge ofa Knife, Off the Edge of the Map_ will most likely be called _The Wrath of Tláloc_ when you next get an update!

Just FYI.

Com'on Dead Man's Chest! (And Part 3!)  
Jack E.


	12. At World's End

**Explanation and disclaimer:** Song-like poem I turned out just 'cause, W/E centric... But the characters and the films do not belong to me and no infringement or law-breaking is intended. Apologies to my readers--I've been trying as well as I can to get my fics updated. But I've found myself a firm prisoner of the legendary ship the _Flying Writers' Dutch Block, _and the captain has yet to find incentive to let me go. (I suck at Liars' Dice). I'll keep plotting my escape and hope to churn out something good eventually.

_At World's End_

Candles aglow  
In strange dense drifts of snow  
As you're standing by me;  
Sweet smiles have gone  
Switched with thoughts of our wrongs,  
And I miss you by me.

Glistening lights  
Dazzling thick shrouds of night,  
And yet, I find I can't breathe.  
Life gliding past  
With all hope fading fast;  
Tell me, Why can't I breathe?

The prow's oe'r the rim  
And the stern's rolling in,  
The sea's rushing by  
As we're braving the sky;  
And I,

I find I'm looking down at the stars,  
Watching as we fall beyond the dark,  
Praying for a flash from afar.  
Still my hope's again we'll begin  
To heal grave wounds found deep within,  
And I'll be seeing you,  
Standing there,  
At world's end.

These wings once flew  
In pursuit beyond the moon  
That I might have you near me.  
Then, living a dream  
Shattered by what I have seen,  
I find you're far from me.

I've now lost my way,  
All the words I would say;  
Yet, questioning why,  
I'm still braving the sky  
As I,

I wonder if you hear what I say,  
Worry I deserve a brighter ray,  
As do I with you everyday.  
But if the dream's an imperfect blend,  
There's the chance between us will mend  
Then I'll be meeting you  
Firmly there,  
At world's end.

No room for doubt  
On what this love's about—  
We've only got one last chance.  
Nearing the shore,  
Let's speak just one time more  
And take hold of this chance.

Cold hearts can't know  
How we'll ne'er let it go;  
This sunset will rise  
To defeat our demise;  
Then I,

I'll find I'm looking down at the stars,  
Watching, lest we fall beyond the dark,  
Praying for a flash from afar.  
Then, like my hope, we will begin  
To heal these wounds deep down within.  
And I,

I'll be standing on the brink of our fall,  
The mem'ry in my heart of it all  
Bracing my soul for your call,  
Because now I think I understand;  
When future hardships come, take my hand,  
And I'll be seeing you,  
Standing there…

And I'll be meeting you  
Firmly there…

I'll bind myself to you  
Eagerly,  
Even when  
All worlds do end.


	13. Error

_Error_

The world had lost its color; its savors had fled far and away. Sounds were relative, sights selective, and touch ruled by a singular numbness in its groping for what was known, deep down, to be absence and nothing else.

At first, he thought he had imagined it—so small and imperceptibly had it sprouted. Yet every creek of the levers, every snap of the lines, every drop of the supports bid it grow a little larger, gnaw a little fiercer on his raw conscience's edge. He had been so certain of the right disposition of his choice. It was practical. It was ethical.

And yet the King's colors had never felt so heavy, as, more brightly with every fading sunrise, he began to realize that the world had utterly lost its color...

Perhaps he had made a grave mistake.


	14. Consequences

_Consequences_

Trials had come before—dire tribulations that threatened to break them forever—but they had always come out on top, their bruises healing, and tears drying in the light.

She should have known it could never last forever; that those lovely hands would never become as familiar as she dreamed; that those soft expressions and gentle words would become distant and rare. Though she pretended to be strong, as she kissed him goodbye for years of years, she felt the soundest parts of her breaking. His fingers left hers naked, his embrace, forlorn. And she found in her falling pieces that never, in all her life, did she more wish that he could take back an act and its acurséd spirit of service.

* * *

To my dear readers,

I express my secluded shame and regret that I have not been able to cater to your waiting as much as I would like. Understand, my life, for a few months, has taken a very busy turn and I have not been able to have adequate time to write more than sentences and snatches in _The Wrath of Tláloc_ (previously _On the Edge of a Knife, Off the Edge of the Map_). Come May, or thereafter, I should be able to dedicate more time to that specific story. Do know, however, that while all this time has been passing, the story has had time to be tweaked, perfected and toyed with, in my head.

Meanwhile, plot bunnies have been merciless with new ideas. I have been working feverishly on a new W/E romance (someone forbid--I _never_ thought I'd write a romance in my entire life), based heavily off of one of Shakespeare's comedies. And _Horizon_ is also going to be finished.

The will all be finished, one day. I promise this.

I hope you all enjoy the forthcoming final enclosement for the _Pirates_ trilogy. It's going to be a great ride, I can tell you that.

Till a later day,  
Jack E.


	15. One Day

_One Day_

Just when your foot's found its ground,  
The deck falls away, your mind's spinning 'round;  
You wonder what could have gone wrong—  
While you sing the song, you sing the song,  
There's no sound,  
No sound.

The hands that you held are lost.  
You'll wing back their touch, whatever the cost.  
But the squall that now rages is strong.  
Though you sing the song, you sing the song,  
The ship's tossed,  
Hard-tossed.

You find that break with the world's so far.  
The dream will live on—it's easy to say!  
But watch for the fall of you Nothern Star:  
It's bound to come; it's bound to come one day.  
One day...

Hanging your arms at your side,  
The depths are too deep, the ocean's too wide;  
The journey you've started's too long:  
What good's the song? What good's the song  
That you've cried?  
You've tried.

You find that break with the world's too far.  
The dream can't live on—too easy to say!  
Still, watch for the fall of yon Nothern Star:  
It's bound to come; it's bound to come one day.  
One day...

Lift up that head and look high!  
Keep your eyes weathered on yon Northern Sky:  
I'll never be part of the throng—  
I'm singing the song, still singing our song,  
And we'll fly  
We'll fly!

As pirates we've been through the world so far,  
And legends we'll be—forever, they say:  
Up till the fall of yon Nothern Star.  
That night will not come, it will not come one day...

And though that break with the world's so far,  
I'll be waiting for you, whatever the way.  
E'en after the fall of yon Northern Star  
I'll hold to you, One—that's bound to come, one day.  
One day...

You'll hold to me too—just me, Love, and you and one day...

* * *

AN: On the AWE soundtrack there' s a song titled, 'One Day.' A lot of people took it as a maybe-ominous foreshadowing in the W/E story. I didn't. I saw a lot of different things, but not that. This is one of the things I saw, I suppose. It isn't really ship-based, but you could apply it to Jack/Freedom; Jack/Pearl; Will/Elizabeth... whatever. It's supposed to be broad.

Still working on that other stuff! ;)

Jack E.


End file.
